


I'd Probably Lie

by JoMarch, RyoSen



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyoSen/pseuds/RyoSen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh thinks about this summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Probably Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Author: RyoSen, not Jo March  
> SPOILERS: Season two.  
> DISCLAIMER: These characters aren't mine.  
> THANKS: To Jo, for writing the heartbreaking "What I Did On My Summer Vacation." And to Morgan, for sparking this with the observation that Josh is far too disorganized to make a list.

I looked around today and realized it's the middle of August. What the hell happened to July? Or June, for that matter?

Summer's virtually over and I have yet to do one fun, summerish thing. I miss grade school, sometimes, for the long summer vacations. And the part where your first day back to school consisted of writing an account of What I Did This Summer on that great paper with the huge lines.

I loved writing that essay. My parents almost always took two weeks off each summer, during which time we'd pile into the car and end up somewhere we'd never been before. By the time I was in high school, I'd visited more than half of the states and three Canadian provinces.

My only problem with the essay was my organizational disabilities. I'd be all over the place, recounting an incident with my sister, Joanie, and her fear of cows in Iowa, then jump to the day we saw a six foot tall drag queen at the Jersey shore. 

I bet Donna never had that problem. I bet Donna turned in a neatly organized little memo with bullet points and everything.

The thought gives me pause.

I think a big part of the reason I can't recall this summer is that Donna and I--We're not "Donna and I" anymore. Between that and the Senate hearings, I've probably blocked out most of the events of the past couple months. 

The moments I do remember are these perfectly preserved snippets of time. Sights, sounds, emotions, all jumbled together and contextless, like unlabeled photographs tossed into a shoebox.

I don't remember what the president said that night. I don't remember how he phrased it when he told the country he wasn't giving up. I do remember watching him; I remember the look on his face. I remember the way a droplet of rainwater slid down my back and gave me the chills. I remember the surge of elation, the look on CJ's face. I remember the sobering realization of What This Means, the way I looked for Donna in the crowd.

There are other moments: Donna, standing in my office looking devastated and saying that we can't get married; CJ, wandering into my office late at night offering half a chocolate chip cookie, conversation, and comfort. Sam and Toby, looking as if they hadn't slept in days as they analyzed and debated every single word the president would utter. Leo, looking older than I've ever seen him, asking me if there are records of my visits with Stanley.

I remember the sick feeling when I found the clothes and things I'd left at Donna's in my backpack one sunny day.

I remember willing my hand not to shake as I raised it and recited the oath in front of Congress and everyone glued to C-Span.

I remember the night I couldn't stand the insomnia anymore and ran myself into exhaustion before dropping, finally, into sleep.

I remember the weekend my mother fed me brownies and solace, and told me that Donna loves me.

I remember the stress headaches.

I remember the insulting questions from Senator Baker.

I remember the way my abused muscles protested weeks on end of little sleep and no physical therapy.

I remember Donna avoiding my gaze and mumbling something about her friend and a gym membership.

I remember Sam getting me good and drunk and letting me sob into his couch cushions.

I remember Zoey's drawn face on TV as she testified in front of Congress, her voice quavering.

I remember the president staring sightlessly out into the night as we gathered in the Oval Office one dark evening.

I remember the day it finally descended into chaos, when someone in the Communications bullpen had a summery pop song cranked up as I walked past. I remember the sickening dread, the sudden sweaty panic, the way the flashback hit too fast for me to swallow it back down. I remember Leo finding me in the Roosevelt Room, propped with my back against the wall. I remember Toby and Sam half-carrying me into Leo's office, panic etched in the lines of their faces. I remember Donna's terrified expression when she came running in to take me home.

I remember the way they all treated me like blown glass for a week afterwards. 

I remember hating my weakness, and hating them for seeing my weakness.

All in all, I can't say it's been a particularly good summer. I wish I could write a childish essay about beaches and the sharp smell of sunscreen and long, lazy afternoons. The truth, I've decided, is far too depressing.

In fact, if I had to write an account of What I Did This Summer, I'd probably lie.

THE END


End file.
